Page 59 of His Obsession

“You won’t find her here, man.” He laughed. “I was the decoy.” Shit!

“Where did he take her?” I growled, my voice low and menacing. I was going to tear him apart.

“I don’t know shit!” He spat his bloody saliva, and it hit my shirt with a splat.

We’ll see about that.

I hit the kid over the temple with the butt of my gun. His lights went out, and his hands fell to his sides. This wasn’t the place for an interrogation, but I had just the place in mind.

I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder, dumping him into my trunk, his head hitting the side with a wetthunk.

Oops.

I took the cable ties that I keep in my trunk and thoroughly fastened his hands and feet together, slamming the lid down and locking him inside. There had to be a clue in the van as to where Jimmy could have taken her. I ran back to the van, quickly searching for a clue. Anything that would show me where she was or where he had been so we could narrow it down.

I sifted through gum wrappers and old coffee cups, finding nothing of value, nothing that could help me. I clenched my fists and ground my teeth, scowling at the inanimate object before me.

I kicked the paint off the van, letting go of some steam before I hiked back up to my car. The police would be here soon, and I didn't want to stick around for questioning.

“You still there?” I asked Tonk as I climbed into the car, not remembering if I hung up.

“Yeah. What happened?”

“She wasn’t there. It was a decoy. The bartender that served her tonight was driving the van.” It finally dawned on me where I had seen him before. “He was also the man that cornered her at the theater. Find out what you can on him. Meet me in the basement,” I said, hanging up.

The drive home was worse than any torment I could imagine. Driving the speed limit so as not to draw attention to myself gave me more time to think, and that was something I shouldn’t be doing in my state. My mind sat in Purgatory, which was worse than Hell. At least, in Hell, you knew what would come for you. In limbo, you sat in the in-between, and you were fair game for anything.

Thoughts of being pulled over and having to explain about the man in my trunk I had every intention of murdering plagued me, causing me to become paranoid and itchy. The adrenaline had been running through my veins for too long, and now the crash was beginning. It caused me to become jittery and sleepy.

I needed a quick fix before I crashed hard and wouldn’t come back, rendering me ultimately useless for a few hours. I didn’t have time to spare for that scenario. I needed to get him into the basement and start working with him. The rush I’d get from that would satiate the fix I needed, keeping me in the game and getting answers at the same time.

But she wasn’t here. Purgatory crawled back in, burrowing under my skin like a parasite. I failed her, and my worst nightmare was now hers, and I couldn’t do anything to shield her from it. I wouldn’t be there to hold her hand while he did despicable things to her. I wouldn’t be able to protect her or stop him from the abuse I knew he was going to inflict on her pure, unblemished skin.

I should have never felt secure enough to take her out, much less to the club. I blamed myself. I blamed her. How could we both be so stupid at the same time? How is it she could think she could outsmart him?

Tonk predicted this would happen, and I didn’t take him seriously. He knew she would take on this war in her own way and use familiar life tactics to bullshit her way through it. Now, she was in the hands of a tyrant, a bully… the devil.

What was she thinking? I had her safe; it was under control, and she had to turn the world upside down and make it her own. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. I had become complacent. And now he had her.

I whipped into my driveway, and Diaz and Sam greeted me. Popping the trunk, they hauled the limp noodle out and pulled him by his tied arms across the lawn to the pool house—they weren’t moving fast enough for my itchy skin.

In the pool house was a room with a set of stairs; those stairs lead to a covert basement. It was more of a high-tech soundproof cage that would make the CIA a little envious. The bartender’s head bobbed as they dragged him down the stairs to his room. I ran ahead, flinging open the steel door, watching them drag him through, dropping him to the floor with athud.

The rooms were Tonk’s. He kept them bare, nothing but cement walls, ceiling, and floors. There weren't any windows or beds, just a chair, and a table. Each room had a hidden speaker in the walls, so he could play with their minds.

Ever thought your walls were whispering to you? They were. That eerie drip of water you couldn’t find the source of. The scratching or squeaking of mice. Sounds could wreak havoc with your mind.

Diaz cut the bartender’s ties, then they plopped him in the bolted metal chair. Chains rattled in the room as they attached it around his waist, feet, and hands, fastening him securely to the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere if we didn’t want him to.

“Get Tonk,” I told them. They both turned and left, listening to my orders.

This part was Tonk’s specialty. It was where the real Spence “Tonk” Randall came out to shine. With him growing up on a farm, he learned how to slaughter and quarter animals with ease. He always said, “the difference between humans and animals was, one could beg for mercy.” It still caused me to shudder when I thought of that. I was okay with killing someone who deserved it, but what Tonk does, well, it takes an extraordinary mind.

I gripped the kid’s shirt, ripping the buttons, watching as they scattered across the floor. The thin material instantly brought up visions of Liz in her favorite lingerie, the one she has yet to wear for me. Now I don’t know if she ever will. I shook it all from my head and continued with his clothes. His sleeves came next. I cut them from neck to wrist, discarding the material to the side.

His limp body sagged against the chains, his head hung down to his chest, and the blood falling from his lips now ran unopposed down his naked torso. My serrated knife cut through the jean material as if it wasn’t even there. The noise of tearing fabric irritated my ears as I finished each leg, causing a shiver to come over my body. Goose flesh traveled over my arms and down my legs, my mind’s eye following its path.

Tonk wheeled in a small table, wearing jeans and no shirt, jarring me from the strange sensation. He opened his wicked box of tools and set them out, picking up a small blade appearing more menacing than mine.